


lovestoned

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:04:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Well,” he says at last, loosening her braid with damp fingers as she curls up to his chest. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Breathing out harshly, she smooths a hand over his bare chest. “It would appear that intense emotion in centralized spaces affects me on a physical level,” she says, voice still breathless. </i></p><p> </p><p>Five times other people's emotional states influenced Sascha's into sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lovestoned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts), [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts), [spyglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/gifts), [katayla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katayla/gifts), [theepiccek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theepiccek/gifts), [torigates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/gifts).



> Written for Jordan at the [I Want Your Sex Ficathon](http://tosca1390.livejournal.com/331241.html). Can't write a PWP to save my life. 
> 
> For Jordan, and everyone else. **Spoilers for Shield of Winter.**

*

{1}

Changelings are incredibly emotional beings, in a crowd and on their own. Sascha feels those shifts like it is second nature; now that she understands the restraints placed on her empathic abilities under Silence, registering the emotional tenor of a room or group is becoming easier. There are days when she still feels overwhelmed, unprepared; but, even just a few months after defecting from the Net and embracing her true abilities, she thinks she is performing admirably. 

The first time she in a room with Faith and Vaughn together, the sexual tension leeching from the both of them nearly brings her to her knees. Vaughn’s animal always rides close to his skin, and so the visceral primal response from the jaguar changeling does not necessarily surprise Sascha; but Faith – Faith is a controlled mass of frustration, of frustration she cannot name or define without breaking the Silence protocols so deeply embedded into her mind and training. So it lingers there, an emotional signature that sinks under Sascha’s skin and leaves her flushed and a little uncomfortable. 

She wonders if this is what she felt like to Lucas, before defecting. If he could sense that nascent need, the panther in him wanting to soothe it, to feed it. 

Now, it just leaves Sascha aching, the unresolved tension hovering in her like a storm cloud. 

“You look strange,” Lucas says once they are alone, and back in their aerie. 

Sascha glares at him, rubbing the heel of her hand over her sternum. “That is not a polite thing to say to your mate.”

He grins a little, the slashes on his cheek stretching with the movement. It makes her want to sink her teeth into his chest and rub her cheek against his. The need for skin contact shivers under her fingertips, a hum and a need she is sure he can feel. 

“Sad that the romance is gone, kitten?” he teases, reaching out to tug on her braid. 

She reaches out and takes his hand in hers, pulls him towards her. Leaning back against the wall of the aerie’s living room, she tugs until he is pressed against her from shoulder to hip, her legs spreading to pull him closer. 

His eyes darken, the cat rising in that green gaze. “Sascha – “

Rising up on her tiptoes, she kisses him, her lips parted for his. Her tongue licks into his mouth and she feels more than hears the low gravelly sound from his throat. His hands cup her ass and lift her up against the wall, and she moans a little, the sound soft and wet against his mouth. Mind whirring, she takes the press of tension and want and sinks into Lucas, strips him of his t-shirt and drags her bare hands over the hair-rough plane of his chest, the skin dusky and firm. 

His mouth slides over her jaw, bites and sucks at the curve of her throat. She thumbs his nipples and he hisses against her pulse, his erection pressing into her belly through their jeans. The air between them seems to shimmer, the hard ache finally shifting away from her chest and smoothing into something she can translate, something she can manage. Here, with his skin on hers and his mouth wetting the curves of her breasts through her shirt, with her fingers wrapped around his cock and his hard breaths against her skin, she feels in control. 

She doesn’t want it slow. He fucks her against the wall, their clothes still half-on, her thigh hitched high over his hip as he sinks into her. His chest presses her back into the wall and she bites at the ball of his shoulder, his fingers flicking against her clit to make her come. She does with a high keening moan, her mouth slick over his throat, and he follows with a low guttural growl of her name, his hands sinking bruises into her hip and thigh. They sink to a cushion on the floor of the living room, tangled in each other, their jeans stuck at their knees, her shirt translucent with the wet of his tongue. 

“Well,” he says at last, loosening her braid with damp fingers as she curls up to his chest. 

Breathing out harshly, she smooths a hand over his bare chest. “It would appear that intense emotion in centralized spaces affects me on a physical level,” she says, voice still breathless. 

His large palm cradles her scalp. “Vaughn got you all hot and bothered?” he asks, a twinge of amused irritation traveling their bond. 

She pokes at his ribs, and he chuckles. “Not Vaughn specifically. There was an intense amount of sexual tension and frustration between the two of them. So much so that my natural feedback loops overloaded.”

Running his fingers through the waves of her dark hair, he guides her head up, their gazes meeting. “If this is how you want to work out any feedback overloads, be my guest, kitten,” he says with a wicked grin, the cat heavy in his eyes. 

Sascha pokes his chest again and leans up to kiss him, even as they are tangled on the floor. 

 

{2}

 

“Psys,” Sascha mutters as she paces the White Zone of the SnowDancer Den, waiting for Lucas to arrive. 

Beside her, Lara, the SnowDancer healer she has struck up a friendship with in the course of working with Brenna, blinks. “What about them?”

Sascha thinks of Judd Lauren, of the pressing need she can sense in him when he looks at Brenna, of the open responsive nature of Brenna’s affection and desire. With each healing session, as Sascha utilizes Judd’s energy to help Brenna heal, the tension rises. She feels them at a cresting point, a moment of no return; the ache sits in her and crawls under her skin until she cannot help but press her palm to her middle, trying to soothe it. A slow build of unfulfilled emotional need on both sides, rather than the explosiveness of Vaughn and Faith. 

“They are insanely repressed,” Sascha says at last with a small smile. 

Something flickers in Lara’s clear brown gaze. There is a flicker of want there, but Sascha cannot follow it. Not today. Today she feels as if she will peel out of her skin if Lucas doesn’t get there soon. Judd’s rigid control on his emotional and physical needs might work for his sanity, but her empathetic senses can’t handle it. 

Lara’s face clears and she smiles slightly. “Brenna’s wearing him down.”

“She has a will of steel,” Sascha replies, body thrumming as Lucas’s familiar car approaches. “Just as long as she’s allowed to use it.”

Lara and Sascha share a hug and a goodbye, and Sascha slips into the passenger seat of Lucas’s car with ease. He grins at her, dressed for the city office today in his sleek black suit and a dark green button-down shirt that she bought for him not long ago. She likes buying him clothes; it makes her feel as if he is always marked as hers. 

“How’d it go, kitten?” he asks, sliding a hand over her jean-clad thigh. 

Immediately, Sascha feels it rise up, all the slow-burning tension leeched from Judd and Brenna, filling her veins and shimmering in the contained air of the car. “Good,” she says, curling her fingers over his broad wrist. A strong man, a lithe man, like the cat that is his other half. 

He glances at her, maneuvering the car with ease out of SnowDancer territory, deeper into the forests. “You feel tense.”

“Stop that,” she mutters, wrinkling her nose. Her pulse kicks up, her skin flushing. 

Slowly, his lips curve into a smirk. “Need to work off some tension?”

She doesn’t reply with words. Instead, she lifts his hand to her mouth and licks at his fingertips, sucking the salt-forest-sweat of him onto her tongue. 

A low purr fills the car. He pulls off into a shadowed copse of trees and shuts off the car, shoving his seat back. She flows into his lap easily, her hands already searching for bare skin as their mouths collide. Clothes mean nothing; she shimmies off her jeans and frees his cock from his suit trousers and sinks onto him without taking off her panties, his fingers shoving them aside and playing with her damp flesh as she takes his mouth, stretched over him, her knees digging into the armrests. It’s slow and hot, their kiss lasting eons as she all but crawls into the cradle of his chest, dragging her hands over the shirt she bought for him, grateful to have him. Grateful to be able to touch and be touched. 

She is so utterly sad for Brenna and Judd, their tension released from her aching chest, that tears slide from her eyes as she comes, her face buried in Lucas’s throat. 

They sit curled up together in the driver’s seat for a long time, the sweat cooling on their bodies, their limbs tangled. She breathes in and out as he strokes her hair, her back, her gaze flickering to the snow-dusted trees outside. It has been a long, hard winter. 

“I love you,” she says at last, voice hoarse. 

Lucas’s grip tightens on her, holding her impossibly close. “I love you too, kitten.”

 

{3}

 

Sascha shuts the door to Lucas’s office in the city headquarters, and locks it behind her. 

Lucas, aware of her intent, looks up from the contracts on his desk, eyes gleaming. “Really?”

“Really,” she says, face impassive. “I sent Ria to lunch with Emmett.”

“That’s high-handed of you, kitten.”

Sascha shrugs out of her light coat, draping it over the nearest chair. She is wearing a skirt today, for her venture into the city. Her blazer buttons just under her breasts. The outfit is an approximation of her old standard Psy uniform; she remembers sitting in this office, before she thought any of her new life was even possible, and feeling Lucas’s hot gaze on her body. He always wanted her, she thinks with a jolt. 

“You could use a break,” she says. 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, love, but I like it,” he says with a smirk, pushing the contracts aside. His windows are tinted on the outside; no one can see in, though those inside can see out. A security measure, to make sure no one knows where Lucas is in the building just by sight; today, it is doubly convenient. 

Lately, Sascha has been increasingly wanting in her sexual needs, but today she rode into the city with Mercy, whose sexual frustration has hit a fever pitch – so much so that Sascha fears its effect on her work and judgment. She doesn’t tell Lucas this, of course. Mercy (and Riley, if Sascha has that pinpointed correctly) will figure it out. But what she did do was leech just enough of that tension away from Mercy to help, to ease her emotionally. 

Now, it sits on Sascha’s skin like an itch, uncontrollable and insistent. 

“Before we were mated, I thought about this type of situation,” she says, voice even. 

His gaze narrows on her as she walks over to him. He pushes away from his desk, but she does not sit astride him. Instead, she lifts herself onto his desk in front of him. 

Immediately, his need colors the air, mixing with her own desire and the knot of frustration left by Mercy. 

“What did you think about?” he asks, voice like gravel. 

She wets her lips and spreads her thighs. No tights today, just sapphire-blue satin panties for his gaze underneath her staid black suit skirt. 

“You taking me. Here. On your desk,” she whispers, skin flushed pink. 

Lucas’s gaze flickers to hers for a moment. He inches forward, his hands spanning her knees and sliding under her skirt. 

“Not a very Psy thing to imagine,” he murmurs. 

His thumbs stroke over her inner thighs and she clenches her muscles, biting her lip. “You broke every defense I thought I had perfected,” she confesses, voice low. 

He smiles then, and pushes her skirt up her thighs. “You did the same to me, kitten.”

“Lucas – “

He lays his mouth, wet and hot, against her thigh. His fingers curl up against her damp sex, his knuckles rubbing through the satin. “Are you wet?” he asks, laving her skin with his tongue. 

“For you,” she whispers, and the tension slowly unknots itself from her as he strokes her, kisses her skin.

He purrs low in his chest, and the sound reverberates through their bond. She slips her thighs over his shoulders as he peels away her panties with a flick of his claw, her skirt now bunched at her waist. Bare to his gaze, to his questing fingers, she watches breathless as he licks along the curve of her inner thigh. 

“I fantasied about this too,” he tells her with a smoldering smile, his eyes dark. The cat rides high against his skin. She reaches out to stroke her hands through his dark hair, thick like silk against her fingertips. His skin dusky and warm, he presses his mouth to her sex and she moans, the tension lingering in her spine collapsing. 

He eats at her slow and needy, his tongue licking at her clit, his hands spreading her wide. She grasps at his hair and holds him close, the breath leaving her with every soft wet sound. Her heels rub at his back through his suit jacket and she shudders, cresting higher and higher with every moan and growl against her wet flesh. When he sinks two fingers into her and curls, his mouth sucking at her clit, she comes with a high whine, clutching at him. Sweat slips down her spine and she has barely recovered her breath when he rises from his office chair, his face slick from her, undoes his trousers, and pushes into her, bracing one hand on his desk and the other at the small of her back. She licks and bites at his mouth, taking the taste of them both onto her tongue as he enters her with smooth needy strokes, his hand a hot brand through her shirt. She links her ankles at the small of his back and takes him in, holds him so close she thinks she might disappear into him as he comes with a wrecked growl. 

Unraveled and loose, she smiles up at him later as they sit curled up on the sofa in his office, clothed once more. 

“You ruined my panties,” she says.

He blinks at her, grinning like a cat in the cream. “And you didn’t bring a spare pair? Amateur.”

She laughs and kisses him, stroking and petting his chest. His arms settle around her tightly. 

“So who was it this time that got you all riled up?” he asks after a moment. 

She wrinkles her nose, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Perhaps I just wanted to make love during the day,” she murmurs. She will not betray Mercy’s trust, not over something like this. 

“I like that the very thought of me makes you this hot,” he teases, stroking her braid. A pulse of understanding, of love fills the bond. Her mate understands the varied nature of her gift. She is grateful to be so loved. 

 

{4}

 

“Really?” Lucas asks as Sascha tugs him into their bedroom in the aerie. 

Naya is with Tammy and the Ryder twins, and she and Lucas have just returned from meeting Kaleb Krychek and Sahara Kyriakus, together and so brilliantly bonded in the most fundamental of ways, the love between the two of them reverberating through Sascha’s empathetic shields like sunlight. Sascha didn’t even bother to ask to examine the bond; there can be no emotional falsehood within it. Not even Kaleb Krychek could manufacture an emotional connection that profound, that essential, that rooted in devotion and loyalty. 

It nearly brought Sascha to tears. Sahara’s happiness was evident and radiant; Kaleb’s expression masked, yet Sascha _knew_. 

Now, before they go to retrieve their daughter, she pushes Lucas back onto the bed and crawls over him, radiant and full of joy. She kisses him long and slow, the emotions leftover from the meeting still singing in her bloodstream. She can forget about the Net and its myriad problems for these short minutes. 

“I love you,” she says as she peels away his clothes, kissing his chest and every scar she knows the story of. “Lucas, I love you.”

He rolls her onto her back and strips her of her jeans and sweater, stroking his hands over her breasts, smiling as she arches up for more. “I feel like I should get your head examined,” he mutters even as he pushes his hips into hers, his erection bare and hot against her thigh.

“It was so beautiful,” she says, blinking up at him as she reaches down to stroke his cock. He shudders and moves into her grasp, his mouth wet at the naked rise of her breast. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and she sighs into a moan, her heart soaring with the promise of that kind of affection for any lost Psy. If a man like Kaleb can bond so truly – “They love each other so much – “

“I’m trying to love you right now, if you don’t mind,” he murmurs, cupping her between her thighs. 

She moans and pushes into the touch, as his thumb circles around her clit and his fingers sink inside of her. The love seems to color and shimmer in the air, the sheer brilliance of those lingering emotional signatures filling her with such light. She laughs into Lucas’s mouth, and his answering smile and touch is more than enough. 

 

{5}

 

Ivy and Vasic’s wedding is the second wedding Sascha has ever attended. Annie and Zach’s wedding, coming after their mating ceremony, had the sensation of a party, of all fun and joy, and Sascha greatly enjoyed seeing her packmates interact with Annie’s family and friends in that fashion. 

This wedding, in the verdant green apple orchards that make up Ivy’s (and now Vasic’s) home, feels very different. There is no more love, no more affection than Zach and Annie’s; but here, surrounded by Arrows and changelings and empaths and Psys, with Kaleb Krychek sitting next to Judd Lauren – this feels less like a wedding, and more like a new beginning for all the races. 

Tents and tables fill the orchard, billowing white in the spring breeze. Sascha lingers on the edges, watching with amusement as Arrows and changelings interact, as Ivy’s human friends from the settlement chat with changelings and Psys. Kaleb and Sahara dance together to the slow soft music echoing through the orchard, joined by other couples, including Judd and Brenna and Walker and Lara. Anthony sits with Zie Zen and Dorian, while Aden speaks intensely with Ivy and Vasic near a blooming tree. The sun sinks over the orchard. Sascha smiles, delighted. The affection and hope and love in the atmosphere buoys her senses, enlightens her empathetic pathways. 

She searches for her mate, and smiles as she turns to find him right behind her. He is a sleek, handsome sight in his dark suit and white shirt, the collar open to the neck. 

“I was just about to look for you,” she says as he approaches. 

Lucas tilts his head, his hand resting on her hip. His fingers rub against the smooth silk of her sapphire-blue dress, the skirt flaring at her knees. She bought it on a recent shopping trip with Sahara and Ivy and Mercy and Brenna – all perhaps unlikely friends, but perhaps not. She likes to think that the world has become family, in a sense. But Pack is special, and they are Pack. 

“I was talking with Vasic. Wedding night tips, you know,” he teases. 

“You’re friends now,” she says with a smile, leaning into rest against his chest. 

He huffs out a slow breath, wrapping his arms around her. “Maybe. He’s a good guy. We’ve got things in common.”

“Stubborness?” she teases, resting her chin on his chest. 

“Irresponsible selfless empaths as mates,” he retorts, smoothing his hands through the thick dark waves of her hair. She left it down this morning, in a rare choice; she likes how he looks at her when she wears it down. 

Smiling, with the collective contentment of so many at her back, she rises on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. “I feel like being a little selfish now,” she whispers. 

His hands clench on her back. “Here?”

She sighs as she kisses him, her arms twining around his neck. “Weddings are nice.”

Chuckling, he shifts to wrap one arm around her waist and walk by her side, guiding her towards a remote area of the orchard. “You’re loopy with happiness, kitten.”

“I’ll take it,” she counters, rubbing her cheek against his upper arm. 

Lucas leans down to kiss the top of her head as they retreat into the shadows of the trees. Love and amusement ripple down the bond between them. “Everyone is going to know,” he murmurs, his hand skimming over her ribs to caress the swell of her breast through her dress. 

She turns into his arms and kisses him, pulling him close to her, until she feels as if she has sunk into him. “I can inform you with certainty that everyone here who is in a couple is thinking and feeling the exact same way that we do,” she says primly. “So, I doubt a few of us sneaking away is wholly unexpected.”

His hand closes over her breast as he backs her into a tree. “I love it when you talk Psy,” he murmurs, his mouth hot and wet over hers. 

Sascha smiles into the kiss and wraps her arms around him. The air cools around them; they keep each other warm. 

*


End file.
